Thread That Binds
by Fanatical Alice
Summary: The Black Sisters three-shot.
1. False

_fate, it doesn't cut, the soul is not so vibrant_

* * *

"_Bellatrix! What in Merlins name do you think you're doing?"_

Bellatrix Black scoffed and met her mother's horrified gaze through the smudged, cracked mirror. "I'm an autotonsorialist, Mother. Obviously."

Druella couldn't quite fit her tongue around the word. "A…Autoton…Oh for the love of Black! You stupid girl! What kind of _lady_ cuts her own hair?"

"I never claimed to be a _lady_, you old hag. I merely stated that I was an autotonsoralist."

"How _dare_ you-!"

"What? Are you done yet? Your voice grates on my nerves." Bellatrix drawled and resumed savagely cutting at her thick mass of curls. Her ten year old eyes glimmered with a darkness most children couldn't comprehend each time the scissors snapped their steel fangs, severing yet another lock. A vicious smile marred her narrow face.

"_Druella, Druella ~ killed so sweet by Bella ~ scissors, scissors ~ bloody, bloody scissors~"_

Her mother stormed out of the bathroom, creating a false cloud of anger to mask the fear that plunged deep in her heart as her daughter sang the same verse over and over again. "You useless brat! You can get yourself locked away in Azkaban for all I care! _CYGNUS_!"

"_~ Druella, Druella ~ she was killed by Bella ~ hands so ~ bloody ~ bloody, bloody hands~"_

* * *

**autotonsorialist ~ **one who cuts their own hair. _  
_


	2. Revel

_maybe i'm in the black, maybe i'm on my knees._

* * *

Bellatrix. That girl, with her infamous black ringlets and hooded obsidian eyes, was destructive. A force of nature. Naught to be reckoned with. Simply impossible to control. Manners? Civility? Restraint? Those words were lost in the constant vortex that was Bellatrix Black. The Beautiful Bellatrix Black. Wild and reckless. Imperfectly marvelous. Insane and off center. Beautiful Bellatrix Black.

Narcissa. She was prim and proper – everything _just right_. Not a hair out of place and not a wrinkle in her robes. Narcissa Black was always in control, always untouchable and always ice cold. The epitome of everything their mother could have wished for in a daughter to carry on the Black lineage. She was _bred_ to be the perfect Black daughter. Precious Narcissa. Precious Narcissa Black.

"Where does that leave me?" Andromeda questioned the night that embraced her. A thousand – no, a million – stars speckled the sky. Like flecks of diamond nestled deep in their royal blue cushions. The moon hung, a plump silver cat, a captor of any passer-by eye. Andromeda wondered if her mother ever bothered to look up at the sky and revel in its simple beauty. Andromeda wondered if Druella was capable of seeing the _world _and not just the people and their blood heritage.

She doubted it with all her heart and soul.

"What Black daughter am I?" Andromeda demanded once again. "Where do I fit in here?"

Unbeknownst to her, Narcissa in the next room had decided to leave her window open in order for the breeze to flush out the stuffy air, and, due to having an unnaturally difficult time falling asleep, listened to her sister's whispered ponderings in unsteady silence.


	3. Tantalizing

_maybe you should tie me up so i don't go where you want me._

* * *

Narcissa set down the book she'd been trying to read (_trying_ because the print was so dreadfully tiny and the pages so horrendously wide) and inhaled. What _was_ that smell? She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but it had been nagging at her senses (and her rumbling stomach) for nearly half an hour. Sweet…yet gooey. Rich, but…sweet. Sugary? No – impossible. Sugar didn't have a scent.

She marched purposely into the kitchens with the full intention of yelling at the house elves to stop their pointless experimenting and get on with their duties. Surely they had laundry to wash? Dishes to dry? Rooms to dust?

However – she was _not_, under_ any_ circumstances, expecting to see her own sister elbow deep in a mess of dough, flour, various utensils and what looked to be…chocolate chips?

"Andro…Andromeda?" Narcissa cleared her throat.

Her sister's head jerked up and she jumped back from the counter, frantically rubbing away at a suspicious substance that had smeared across her cheek. But when Andromeda saw just whom it was standing as though she'd been Stupified in the doorway, she relaxed and an easy smile graced her round face.

"Cissy! Merlin – don't scare me like that! I thought you were Mother…But look here what I found in town today - a Muggle cookbook!"

Narcissa took a hesitant step forward, curious in spite of herself. "A _Muggle_ cookbook? What on earth would you need that for? Just use magic."

Andromeda scoffed. "Oh, don't be like that. You know as well as anyone how awfully boring it get's here during the holidays. Muggle cooking is actually pretty fun!"

"It looks tedious," Narcissa sniffed.

Just then a tiny _ding_ distracted Andromeda from retorting properly. She squealed and dashed for the old, rusted, oven, and out of its dark metal jaws, her hands guarded by thick oven mitts, she pulled a sheet of perfect golden brown cookies. Narcissa's stomach pleaded with her, but she refused to go any further into the kitchen.

Andromeda carefully placed the cookies on the counter. Her entire face was alight as she plucked one off the sheet and bit into it.

"Mmf…Cissy, Muggles must be genius. This is incredible."

Narcissa pressed her lips together. "Hmph. Doubt it."

Andromeda chose a second cookie and held it tantalizingly close. "Come on. You know you want one."

Sighing impatiently, Narcissa stomped closer. "Just a bite."

She took a single bite of the cookie.

Her eyes widened.

Narcissa Black promptly grabbed two more and swallowed the one in her hand. The sticky dough melted on her tongue, the chocolate chips providing a flawless, impeccable, blend. She had never tasted anything so mouthwateringly delicious – or _warm_ – in her entire fourteen year old life.

"Well? Did you like them then?" Andromeda asked anxiously.

Narcissa was ready to snap snobbishly and insult the pastries, but the words caught in her throat. Her gaze buckled and she stared at the floor when she said,

"They aren't bad."

"Would you like me to teach you how to make them?" Narcissa pretended not to hear the barely constrained joy struggling for release in her sister's voice.

"I'll watch."

For the first time, and the last, two of the Black sisters baked Muggle pastries together all through the holidays. And when they returned to Hogwarts their trunks were brimming with the sweets they had so innocently made.

It was a secret that they both held close to their hearts.

A forbidden secret. But precious none the less.


End file.
